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Ironically, tenderness can be very hard. It’s certainly not what comes naturally for many of us living in Western culture—we’re primed for competition, perfection-seeking, and grit. That’s the American way, which makes my Christmas present to myself both generous and challenging: I’m giving myself the gift of tenderness.
I think we’re all too hard on ourselves. We judge ourselves: our looks, our progress, our success, and our value. We wonder if we’re enough: good enough, rich enough, trying hard enough. But I’ve come to see that when we’re in that mode, we are caring more about what others think of us than how we’re actually treating ourselves. I want to stop that. Well, at least try to. That’s where tenderness comes in.
For me, tenderness is about being gentler and more accepting. Tenderness is bending without breaking. I want to soften to the world without letting it overwhelm me. I’m thinking about how to layer this tenderness into many aspects of my life.
A few days ago, I came across a David Bowie quote I had seen before, but it hit me differently this time: “Aging is an extraordinary process whereby you become the person you always should have been.” I was immediately struck by the idea that I wish I would have liked myself sooner.
As I’ve aged, I’ve come to appreciate who I am, but for decades, I stopped myself from doing things or taking chances because I thought I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t join a gym because I wasn’t in shape. I didn’t sing publicly because I sometimes couldn’t hit the notes. I was suddenly aware of everything I'd avoided because I believed I couldn't, so I didn't.
So many of us have come to think that to be good enough, we must be perfect. But we don’t need to be Michael Phelps to jump in a pool and swim some laps. If perfection is our standard, then we’ll never do anything and never feel enough.
It was hard to sit with this, but it helped me see that I don't want to spend the rest of my life being scared or not trying because I don't feel good enough. And with a little tenderness, hopefully, I won’t.
I’ve found myself thinking a lot about how I’ll survive the next few years. I’m afraid things like social security will get cut, which impacts my retirement plan. I’m afraid we're going to plunge into a recession because some people believe that a government shutdown and major market volatility are what we need to reset. I think we are in a world of hurt, and yet I can't spend all my days reflecting (and anticipating) that.
I want to give myself the tenderness to accept that I don’t need to follow every news story as it’s happening. To accept that focusing on the worst-case scenarios and the 24-hour news stream is useless. I don’t need to, nor can I, live in constant fear of what might happen.
I want the tenderness to focus on what I’m capable of and to choose a more insular world of family, community, and a small circle of trusted confidants rather than the uncontrollable wider view. While not ignoring what’s going on in the world, I want to give myself the gift of not making it the center of my universe.
It sounds obvious, but whatever we pay attention to, we will notice. I want to celebrate what I have and what I’ve accomplished rather than comparing myself to others or wondering what they think about me (spoiler alert: no one thinks about me nearly as much as I think they do, and that’s probably the same for you).
I want to read and listen to music. I want to celebrate the simple beauty available to all of us in daily life. I want to spend more time outside. I want to spend less time listening to the world that doesn't serve me and more time listening to thoughtful, quiet voices and wise writers.
Although the famous song “Try a Little Tenderness” can be read as a patronizing representation of male affection, a more generous and updated reading might say it’s about understanding and sympathy, about choosing to be kind toward someone you care about. In this case, myself. When I find myself critiquing or judging myself, limiting my potential out of protection, or worrying about being perfect, I want to try a little tenderness. When I find myself toughening against the news, the direction I perceive things to be going, or the general temperature of the world, I want to try a little tenderness.
This gift of tenderness is permission to thrive in imperfection and a smaller, more intimate world of loved ones and small pleasures. That’s a gift I could really use. Maybe you could, too?
“Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.” — Coco Chanel
